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Thursday, September 27, 2012

The Post of Random

Inspired by Karla's post of random. It reminded me how I love blog posts such as these, and that maybe I would indulge in one myself.)

In no particular order:

I am a very patient woman, but there is only so much whining that I can actually tolerate. To protect the privacy and integrity of the very young, I'm not going to say a whole lot more about that. Suffice to say that in my career of assisting in the rearing of small children, there are certain times and certain individuals that make working on the cold floor of a sausage factory look like a lovely, whine-free alternative. (of course, I'd have to drink a lot of wine on the job because dead animals, raw meat, and casings make me want to throw up on pretty much everything.)

Lately I've had small children ask me; "Joycie, when are you moving to a NEW house?"

Which is adorable and charming because its out of the mouths of babes....

but....

I also want to take them by the hand through the NEW, partially completed basement that they've been allowed in for exactly two weeks and ask them questions about my NEW walls which are already dirty and scuffed.

And did I mention dented?

Now, I'm genuinely not about these things, but as with the whining that I mentioned a moment ago, I do reach that critical breaking point of wanting to scream. And not into a pillow after hours.

Upstairs, my butt-ugly pressboard-stuck-together-with-sucky-glue kitchen cupboards are swelling and denting and separating away in that total bliss of the unaware. My red back door has white scratch marks from the damn dog trying to dig her way back into the house. The front roof is growing lovely moss. And the back step? About to crumble into the Manitoba clay. Probably when a mom is coming to drop off their child in my uber child-proofed, entirely safe, but slowly falling apart OLD house.

Downstairs, the kids pick at the open-ended bottoms of the NEWLY dry-walled walls and show me; "LOOK JOYCIE! I FOUND CHALK!" Trust me, the patience of Job, plus some deep-breathing techniques are pre-requisites for the job.

Do I sound gloomy? its because I am, a little. Which is the other thing that's bringing me down- the fact that I get down. Gosh, I'm bored of that already. I just want to be OVER IT already and quit with these dips into gloom and doom.

Its a weird crisis somehow connected with my first ever daughter becoming an adult. She turned out really well, so its not that I have regrets, exactly. But I do, still. And I am hovering in this super weird panic place about all the "better" ways that I should parent the other three who haven't reached grown-up status quite yet. But I don't change, I only stew. And sew. And stew. And worry. Did I mention that I"m tired of my head?

Except my hair, which I cut short.

So, at least my brain of very little bear has a cutish place to hang out beneath.

Shipping in Canada is very expensive. I remembered this yesterday when I shipped two bags4darfur and paid out almost $34.00. It's actually less dollars to ship something from here to the U.S. than to send something just into the next province.

I really like children at quiet time. Sitting and watching "George Shrinks", I study their little faces. So trusting, forgiving. And everything still ahead of them. This frightens me sometimes.

Last weekend our town ran the fifth (?) annual Imagine marathon for mental health. Every year I plan to walk five or ten kilometers in support, but I always land up waving a flag and directing runner traffic instead. I like this job. I love to see how many shapes, sizes, varieties, and people groups can participate in this run. There are people all decked out in running room and Lulu Lemon stuff. Then there are the people from Crystal Springs, a nearby Hutterite colony. The women run and walk in their long dresses, head coverings and runners. The young men run in black jeans, suspenders, and dress shirts. Young girls walk with their friends. Little boys in suspendered pants hold their daddy's hands. And they all walk together.

It usually makes me weepy. It always floods my brain with all sorts of pleased feelings.

This year I also saw a number of "dayhome grads" from years past. Running to support mental health.

This usually throws me headlong into a full case of clinical depression and self-flagellation when I remember that I forgot about my own children and they got left at home.

Playing video games.

I'm not one of those moms who forgets to put herself "into the equation". I'm the one who forgets to factor in the kids. Woops.

Now I'm going to dredge up some really good things, just for balance.

After just a lot too much whining this morning, a walk to the park was the only sensible remedy. Everyone was instantly happy. Well, I was at least less irritated, if not exactly happy. I said a little prayer in my head that went something like; "God, I sure could use a nice little interaction. A little pick-me-up, a teensy bit of encouragement..... like from an adult, if that's within the realm of possibility". Now I"m not exactly in a place where I treat God like this any more. I don't usually ask him for much of anything, usually choosing instead to give God credit for the good stuff, and choosing to belief Him for the un-nice stuff. I talk to God about the things he's already into, like pretty much anything that's good. But I don't beg for good weather, or instant healing, (well, I have. But I don't right now), or beg for "a good day". I just think that makes God pocket-sized, and I have plenty of buttons for that.

But anyway. I did say this little mental prayer about feeling discouraged, and wishing for a kind word. I did. But with my feet firmly planted in this world, I looked forward to the zip line at the park. The kids love it and Ive been so pleased that the town put it up for us. After a longish walk, we arrived at the park to discover that some rather large people had tied the zip line rope in many many knots, rendering the ride inappropriate for little bodies.

My outlook on life sunk just a little lower, but we busied ourselves with what was left untampered.

Meanwhile another mom and her kidlets wandered into the park. We introduced ourselves, as we lonely women are wont to do on these quiet daytime adventures with minions of preschoolers in tow.

She was lovely, and easy to talk to, and encouraging.

Now. I"m not going to suggest that God, who is probably busy with Israel, Syria, and the melting icecaps went out of his way to prod another woman and her children out of her house at such and such a time so that she could lift my spirits in the park. But I did meet her, and it was good. So, I say Thank God.

Second. For all the ways that I feel utterly inadequate as a mother, there are certain things that have been done well in spite of it all. This coming weekend is our annual trek to Riding Mountain National Park to celebrate Thanksgiving; a tradition that my parents began well before I was born. So, for about the 50th time, the Kehlers will be taking a scenic drive northwest, taking in the sights and smells of a beautiful autumn, going on a lot of hikes, eating a large bird, and generally celebrating.

At times I do recognize my own great fortune.

Which makes me even more frustrated that I'm prone to these Eeyore-esque musings.

In other news, carpeted basements are nice. Even though I'm not at all a fan of carpet.

And did you know that a heavy duty hinge; needed to hang the ancient doors that I insisted upon, cost $46.00 a piece at Home Depot?

Outrage! Outrage, I say.

Some people foster parent. Wow, just wow.

That's all I'm going to say, tell me something random about yourself; I feel like I've done all the talking again.....

10 comments:

'something random about myself': Last weekend I threw out my old couch and dented a lot of walls doing so. It was Alysa's first ever trip to the dump. I bought a new one, and it does not fit through the door, so I paid $150 for a chair for my living room and a couch for the MCC. And I screwed up my garage door which cost ~ $250 - before the trip to the dump. Outrage! Outrage! I say.

My wireless died last week so I've been without the internet. For a week I did not miss it. Not one little bit. But of course, it is fall and I've also been sick. Today the new equipment arrived and I almost didn't set it up. And now I find myself here, at your little corner of the blogsphere.I blog to know that I am not alone.

Janice, do I understand correctly that ou donated the new couch to the MCC? Really? Outrage, but awesome luck for the store and it's eventual owner. Does that mean your living room has no couch? I have a huge stack of Morroccan themed cushions in my garage if you're interested in coming to MB to pick them up.....

Oh, goodness, I hadn't even thought about worrying about my garage door. I'll start on that first thing this morning.

Judy. Absolutely- the not alone bit. But then sometimes after I write something sucky, I feel alone-er. It is what it is, I write because I can't not write.

I would badly miss Internet, so I admire you for not missing it. I do all my banking, marketing, and "talking" with friends on my gadgets and I despise the phone.

Something Random:I suffer from a melancholy absolutely unsubstantiated by the life I've been given. I dig and prod and remind myself regularly that I'm not alone in this self-absorbed self-pity.

I spent an hour this week listening to a friend whose long-term marriage is on the rocks and she's in desperate pain.

I volunteered at a marathon of hope instigated by a couple my age whose son succumbed tragically to suicide.

I listened while a customer told me all about the recent loss of his retirement savings to a business gone bad.

And I remind myself, once again, that I should be ashamed of myself for wallowing in self-pity. I remind myself as I stand over the kitchen counter lovingly rubbing the charm back into the patina of a beautiful, recently procured, antique brass chandalier - only $35!

i say you start charging damage deposit from the parents of the little ones! A bottle of something strong and yummy per child per month sounds reasonable and should help you forget any real or imagined problems.

Something random...I just cut myself a slice of lemon drizzle cake, guiltily, and the fire is on and our sitting room is warm and cosy - outside it's cold and rainy, in here I am snug and comfy... and the most ridiculously thick, selfish people are crying on the TV because they didn't get through on the X Factor ....and I can't quite grasp that there is the most terrible violence and chaos in Syria happening as I type... and upheaval in Spain and Portugal...and our lives go on as if nothing were amiss anywhere. Even though the walls are crumbling around us. And it makes me panic-y and morose.

I think though that God does indeed occupy Himself with your heartfelt - albeit whispered - prayers as well as the prayers of the peeps suffering in those troubled countries....that's why He is God and we are not.

"I suffer from a melancholy absolutely unsubstantiated by the life I've been given. I dig and prod and remind myself regularly that I'm not alone in this self-absorbed self-pity"- well said, Brenda, that's it exactly. Its nice to know you have the same affliction, it makes it more ok somehow to know it "happens" to other people.Another chandelier! oh wow, must see.Pain, yes. Everywhere. And you're right- we do this thing where we think; why am I ever gloomy??? But I think that only acentuates our own pain. We must take it for what it is, feel it, learn from it, validate it, and constantly make choices towards the good.

VR- they show up quite unexpected with these thinsg sometimes. And I'm so humbled.... and so fortunate!!

VB- perhaps its time to write?!

Wendz. It was lovely and I've read it numerous times, I love it. God is so endlessly, miraculously big. He must be.Everything you wrote in paragraph one is bang one in line with my struggles. And I thank you for saying all that. Wish we could have a cuppa.....

Hmm all this makes me wonder when I'll be back to those melancholy places in my head. Maybe my new meds are working better than my old ones. But now I'm not at home for the 2nd night in a row and forgot my meds at home. Will that affect me? A little afraid I am, often wondering when the next "time" will hit and who might be in my path for the "rant". I don't like me when that happens.

Sad but true how hearing about others' not-so-nice moments in life are sometimes uplifting to the soul to say, "you are not alone".

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About Me

lives in her head, making the simplest things complex; is drawn to the oddest things, thinks in swirly and coloured bits, fears numbers,(the numerical variety, not the book) thinks Jesus had an excellent viewpoint, rarely remembers to de-hair or apply cosmetics, loves critters, and there's more. Much more.